


string theory

by ascxndent



Category: Transformers - All Media Types, Transformers: Prime
Genre: Angst galore, Character Death Fix, Families of Choice, Healing, Implied Mpreg, M/M, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Parallel Universes, Post-Canon Fix-It, Transformer Sparklings, Trauma Recovery, Unconventional Relationship, [its been a long long time from endgame play in the bg], blows chef kiss, call me home depot babey, falling in love all over again, i take the hammer and fix it myself
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-11-16
Updated: 2019-11-15
Packaged: 2021-01-31 15:21:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,419
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21448369
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ascxndent/pseuds/ascxndent
Summary: “None of that is on you,” Knock Out tried again. “It was just how it was. You died, remember?”“Right,” Breakdown nodded slowly, numbly. The words were hollow and vacant in the echo; “I died.”Hard to forget, when he came from a world where everything had happened in reverse; that it had been Knock Out who died in his place.Or: A bridging mishap brings a grieving Breakdown of a parallel world to the grieving Knock Out of this world. Two different bodies, two different sparks, two paths lived. Despite that, it should be easy for everything to fall back in line like it was when it was just the two of them before - problem is, it's not just two anymore.
Relationships: Breakdown/Knock Out
Comments: 8
Kudos: 85





	string theory

**Author's Note:**

> hi so i'm the president of getting into shit really late and the newest member is the entirety of tf and anyways, tfp fucked me up in multiple different directions and it got me feeling something esp for kobd and megastar. i'll deal with those two rat bastards later, but for now? trying my hand at soft kobd because holy hell they did not deserve the story they got in tfp. the 'wildbreak is their kid' theories are p much the only thing that prevents me from full-on crying at this rate.
> 
> anyways, there's not gonna be chronological order here tbh it's just sporadic broken-up moments all over the place because i'm coping by typing out whatever emotional moment threatens to throttle me first.

_you'll never know how many dreams i dreamed of you, my dear_   
_or just how empty they all seemed without you_   
_(it's been a long, long time)_

.

.

.

"Breaky," he says, voice laced with exhaustion -- testing the sound of the nickname on his glossa, having not spoken it in some time -- and optics observant of his lumbering partner who teeters on edge, hesitant, as though testing his weight on thin ice. “I promise if you come closer, he won’t self-destruct.” 

Breakdown remains there, servos curling and uncurling themselves as though shaking off nerves. “I know,” he answers, laughing shakily. “It’s just--” 

The sentence goes unfinished, but somehow, both seem to have a pretty decent idea with where it was going: it’s just _ this. _All of this, it was a lot to take in under such a short, sudden timespan. Doubly so for their unique circumstances, and unique was putting it lightly. Here they are, mourners of two different lifetimes looking at the other and seeing a ghost in their place. 

Haven’t they fared worst odds though?

Knock Out shifts his weight on the berth, adjusting with practiced ease that barely disturbs the currently recharging Wildbreak placed in his arms. He shoots Breakdown one of those easy-going half smiles, oozing with charm, and if this Breakdown is anything like the one of his world then he’s making a surefire guess that it shouldn’t take much more than that to bring him closer. Sure enough, the indication works. The anxiety doesn’t leave his respective partner by no means, but temptation wins him over -- drags him over, he surrenders from the half-assed mental fight of uncertainty -- since it means sealing the distance.

It’s been a long, long time since either one of them have had this. The means of measurement -- be it time itself, or the stars separating their worlds -- cannot say for sure how long; _ long enough _is their answer.

Breakdown peels back the insulation sheet and settles with sitting at the very edge of the berth, waiting on bated breath. He pauses, golden optics soften at the sight. This kind of gentleness is rather unbecoming of Knock Out, who curls his entire being around the sparkling as though it were the last energon source in a depraved world, who stares down at it and _ him _as though he very much intends to fight said world for them both. 

(The feeling was mutual, though it didn’t need to be said. They’ve never been poets or the soft-spoken sort; everything between them was always rough and rushed, exhilarating thrills too short-lived and hungrily searching for the next to enjoy together.) 

It’s funny to him; Knock Out, _ his _ Knock Out had never given an indication that he liked sparklings whatsoever. It was a conversation that had never happened in his world, but he can imagine a hypothetical one and all the reasons against one: too noisy, too dependent, too dangerous of a liability. Who raises a little glitch on a warship anyways? Well, apparently _ this _Knock Out did exactly that for a time, the absolute madman. Call it grief or stupidity or a little bit of both -- it worked out, didn’t it? 

“What?” Knock Out’s voice -- warm and tired -- draws him from his thoughts. Likely he’d been staring for too long and it was beginning to become uncomfortable. 

“Nothing,” Breakdown retorts, shaking his head in nevermind. “I’m lookin’ at you two and… part of me is scared that this all some kind of hologram that’s gonna go fuzzy when I touch it.”

A reasonable enough of fear, shared between them; that this is all too good to be true. 

The crimson Velocitron gave a nod, his sentiments exactly. “You and me both, partner.”

It’s why they’re idling around as opposed to recharging, even when the sparkling has long settled down -- frankly, he’s not much of a challenge, or so Knock Out claims; he hasn’t been a difficult kid for a long time -- and both are very much aware they’re in dire need. It’s the fear that, upon awakening, the other will be gone. Everything will return as it was; with Knock Out here, in this world as is but with only Wildbreak, and Breakdown, returned to his own world completely and utterly alone. The prospect makes them each shudder but neither one speaks of it -- afraid to taint the peace of right now.

At least now Breakdown edges closer, stretches out his arm for Knock Out to settle into. Every action between them is handled delicately, with a hint of hesitancy. They are two different bodies and two different sparks from the other they knew of before -- and they have each endured their own traumas that never happened in the other’s respective timeline. The simplest of touches is treated like strangers getting to know one another all over again.

In essence, it is like falling in love over again -- no? But perhaps strangers is the wrong term for it, because of that lingering hint of familiarity. It’s more like… regaining something, _ someone _once thought lost forever and seizing back all the missed opportunities. Maybe someday it’ll seem like nothing ever really changed.

(Doesn’t stop Knock Out from contemplating over arranging for a second conjunx ceremony, one far more lavish and avaricious -- in regards to his own appearance, that is -- than the previous.) 

Together they look down upon their sparkling, anxious and somewhat hovering whilst failing the act of trying to appear that they’re not. 

Wildbreak is wrapped cozily in additional sheets that were around to spare, his bright rust-colored face plating sits in a nest of white. For a moment, he makes a sound -- the softest little mewl -- and scrunches up his expression, mouth open wide for a few seconds before snapping shut and returning to a normal.

“He’s probably dreaming about fueling,” Knock Out says idly, figuring that a change of subject was needed anyways since the silence was beginning to weigh too heavily. He turns and glances at Breakdown and that makes it all too easy for another one of those charismatic smiles to return, teasing and light-hearted when he adds; “He’s got your big appetite.”

“Really?” the larger mech inquires, grinning. He leans forward, their helms knock together lightly for a moment in shared, soft laughter; a rare moment of sudden, initiated action -- almost unconscious -- that makes them comfortable with one another as though it were the past come to life. He stares down at the sparkling contemplatively, mesmerized and taken aback by the details now as he was the very first day Knock Out had introduced him -- which… had been the same day as this odd crossing of paths, this _ reunion _ of sorts. (But they both knew, regardless of the world, Knock Out was never the sort to ease into anything; speediness and impulsiveness went hand in hand like a package deal for him, and promptly introducing their son that _ never _ existed in Breakdown’s world? A perfectly reasonable idea, consequences and shock be damned or dealt with later.) Such a little thing, it could easily be enveloped in one of Breakdown’s servos alone with wiggle room to boot. He couldn’t imagine it -- no, not it, he’s got to stop with that; his _ son, _he’ll remind himself over and over if he has to, drill it into his processor -- with his appetite, or just about anything of himself.

But here he was, the perfect little mix of the two, undeniably leaning towards Breakdown’s end in terms of the coding though.

“A little thing like him?” he continues the light-hearted jest. The disbelief earns him a scowl from his partner’s handsome, pristine face. 

“He was _ not _ a little thing when I had to carry him,” came the matter-of-fact retort, maintaining a cautious tone to not wake Wildbreak. “I had to practically compartmentalize my internal structures just so he had _ some _wiggle room.”

Breakdown raised a servo up in his own defense, the one tha wasn’t wrapped around Knock Out’s entire being and drawing him close. “My bad.” A thoughtful pause. _ “Technically.” _

Knock Out rolled his optics at the comment -- parallel timelines or whatever scientific hub-bub, it was still, in fact, Breakdown's bad -- but appeared to drop the subject not long after. Dwelling any longer would lead to the inevitable comparison that he’d heard a thousand times over -- how small he was, as compared to just about anyone else of average height. Coding be damned, it would’ve been a tight squeeze and uncomfortable weight adjustment regardless of the sire. It was true, he knew it was, he just didn’t want to hear it.

Besides, all the fuss about size as though that really mattered. It wasn’t that difficult to remember a dark, panicked time of not-long-ago and fussing -- fearing to the point of sleep-deprived panic really -- and hoping the sparkling would even turn out healthy despite limited resources and a warfare setting. 

“Y’know,” Breakdown tried again, and unknowingly, thankfully drew Knock Out away from his own rather depressing reflective thoughts. “Dunno if this is gonna sound weird but, hey. It doesn’t even look like you had a sparkling. You look perfectly the same as always to me.”

And that was all it took to win the other’s vanity-stricken heart; the warmth of pride swelled through him at the unexpected compliment.

“Why thank you,” Knock Out was practically beaming now and something inside Breakdown’s own spark chamber seemed to ache, taken aback by surprise somehow; _ oh, _he’d missed that look so badly, much like everything else to do with his conjunx. “-- It was hard work, being the prettiest ‘con on the Nemesis even when polishing for two. But somebody’s gotta do it, having extra cargo was no excuse for slacking.”

It was all brushing off and humor now. But back then it had been desperation to conceal his condition for as long as he logically, possibly could. Doing whatever it took to seem appealing and the single most useful individual on the entire warship itself; in appeasing every authority figure with prestigious jobs as the sole medic, back then his thinking was that no one would consider him a liability. Because if he so much as even leered towards that image once then it would have been the end of both of them.

Something must have twitched in expression, the jovial prideful light in his optics turned hollow. Whatever it was, no matter how small of a flicker, Breakdown had noticed it. _ This _Breakdown, he was slowly learning, was far more observant than the one he knew.

(Appreciative of the little details, the blink-and-you-miss-it moments; grief does that to one’s spark, Knock Out would certainly know.)

“I’m sorry,” the blue mech stated suddenly, seemingly out of nowhere with such an unusually serious tone.

It threw Knock Out off for a moment, and he blinked in bewilderment. “For what?”

“For everything.” he answered, and then gestured vaguely with his free servo. It was an obvious indication that it wasn’t directed at the previous conversation but to, quite literally, _ everything. _His golden optics had softened once more, matching with the troubled expression on his faceplate. Guilt seemed to rack through him, a kind that they both knew was not his responsibility whatsoever. Even with that mutual knowledge, it did little to heed the pain. “For having to do that alone. For being stuck with the ‘cons and being treated like scrap, for having to have him alone. I can’t even imagine how hard that was--”

“Well, to be fair, don’t forget that I _ am _a medic. I can very much assure you I brewed up the right cocktail of pain medications to ensure it was as easy as possible.” Knock Out interrupted, sparing a glance once again at Wildbreak, who remained oblivious as ever in recharge despite the ongoing conversation. It was a learned skill that little one quickly adapted to, the ability to sleep through just about any ongoing nonsense in his creator’s office -- be it the miserable grunts of patients, the sounds of tools in operation, even the occasional muffled blastfire from unrelated shenanigans aboard. Thank Primus, Knock Out noted, for that little one’s obliviousness which held a resemblance to his sire.

Regardless, the assurance did little to relieve the distress on his conjunx.

“It’s not just that. The point is, you were _ alone. _I wasn’t there for you, or him. I missed things, I wasn’t any help when you would have needed me.”

“None of that is on _ you,” _Knock Out tried again. “It was just how it was. You died, remember?”

The words tasted bitter on his glossa, left an aftertaste that felt even worse long after they were spoken. It had not even been spoken with insulting intent. Somehow, it still struck Breakdown as though it did -- makes sense, he was already on a self deprecating tirade as is. Those words were only fuel to the unfortunate fire.

“Right,” Breakdown nodded slowly, numbly. The words were hollow and vacant in the echo; “I died.”

Hard to forget, when he came from a world where everything had happened in reverse; that it had been Knock Out who died in his place. Like fate had played some cruel altering game, made him endure the exact fate he witnessed happened onto Breakdown. Viciously losing an optic to power-hungry humans, to being killed in action -- torn apart and left for nothing, Dreadwing had regrettably informed -- and his corpse made a mockery by same said humans. It made his fuel tanks turn at the thought every time. 

He’s never asked Breakdown if there had even been so much as a _ hint _of the Knock Out of that timeline carrying; doesn’t want to imagine so much as the tiniest spark that would become their son being involved in that. He can’t.

(It makes something in him lurch, makes him unconsciously cradle Wildbreak closer to him in that very moment.)

“Hey,” Knock Out subsided, leaning his helm further into the curve of Breakdown’s chassis plating, optics offlining and reveling in the warmth emitting from the other. He resituates the sparkling carefully so that he’s a little closer between the two of them. 

“Yeah?”

“Doesn’t matter. You’re here now.”

That certainly makes a hell of a difference, doesn’t it? As opposed to being one with the All Spark or whatever cold lonely void might exist for selfish sparks like theirs; that can’t be denied. Beside himself, Breakdown lets the guilt wither away and chooses to bask in this instead.

(It’ll get easier, they both think. It just has to.)


End file.
